Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  She lifted her hand from the hairpin and stared at it. “I’ve kept it in a hidden jewelry box all these years, just in case I was ever desperate and needed the coin. A few weeks ago, I walked into my rooms and found my husband looking inside the one I keep on my vanity. He was searching for it. He said a man had come up to him and commented on the bird hairpin I’d worn to a party a few weeks back. He offered my husband a considerable amount of money for it.” She looked worried, and he couldn’t understand why until she said, “Clive, I’ve never worn that hairpin. Ever. Therefore, the man shouldn’t have known it was in my possession.”

  Clive felt a tightening in his chest. “When did this happen?”

  “A month ago, perhaps,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Last night, I thought I’d get an opportunity to speak to you, but you vanished with Lady Irene before I could, and I was worried you two were speaking about me.”

  “Our conversations are never about you.” Clive took the hairpin and placed it into his pocket. “I’ll give it to Lady Irene.” He’d place it in his home on his visit in a few days. “What was the name of the man who wished to buy it from your husband?”

  “Mr. Smith.”

  “Where did they meet?”

  “My husband won’t say. I’m surprised he told me about Mr. Smith at all. He likely only mentioned it because he couldn’t find the jewel and needed my help.”

  Clive wanted to ask if she were all right at home but knew it wasn’t his place. He understood that anything a wife owned belonged to her husband, but Clive couldn’t see himself taking a jewel from his wife without consulting her no matter the price. Some things had more value than money.

  There were few reasons a husband would hide things from his wife. Nine out of ten times, the reason was vice. But perhaps, Lord English wished to surprise his wife with a gift. It was possible. Anything was possible.

  Clive stood and Olivia got to her feet as well. “Good day, Lady Olivia.”

  She curtsied but didn’t immediately leave. Instead, she stared at him for a time before making her retreat.

  He watched her go and couldn’t suppress the memories she awoke within him. Those had been very good days, but then he couldn’t forget the way she’d ignored him in the end, and over something she’d asked him to do. His missives had gone unanswered. She’d turned away from him at various parties where their families had been together. To say Clive had been hurt would never incompass everything he’d felt.

  He’d learned to love very few since. His brothers and their wives had proven their loyalty over and over again. Somehow, Clive had found a way to let them in, but aside from the birth of the children, the door to his heart had been closed and would remain so.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 9

  * * *

  Irene bowed her head to a very cold Clive, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. Of course, the coldness wasn’t visible to the crowd that had come to her house. Her dinner party had turned into something far more extravagant than she’d planned in the beginning.

  Clive smiled through introductions. There were a few people Clive already knew and as his friends came in, he moved away to speak to some of the gentlemen present.

  She knew the men. She’d met them at various parties.

  “Lady Olivia. Thank you for the invitation.” Kent Harris, the Earl of Ganden, bowed over her hand. His green eyes seemed kind, but she saw the challenge within them. She’d not been very kind to him that night he’d met with her father. She’d been rude, dismissive, angry that the men would wake her poor ailing father at such a late hour.

  She saw no reason she should apologize for her actions, therefore she didn’t.

  The intimidating gaze never wavered, even as he introduced his wife.

  “Lady Olivia, you have a lovely home,” Lady Ganden said. Lucy was her name. Irene had looked into everyone who was connected to Clive. Lucy, unlike her husband, seemed kind.

  Irene couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, my lady. I’m so glad you could come.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t miss the opportunity to meet Clive’s…”

  Clive suddenly appeared. He was coughing loudly and wildly. It went on for a moment too long for Irene’s sensibilities.

  “Water,” she cried. “We need water and a chair!”

  Lucy looked at him and placed a hand on Clive’s arm. “Are you all right?” The intimacy of the touch did not go unnoticed by Irene. Clearly, Clive was not only close to Kent but to Lucy as well.

  Her staff worked quickly. Clive sat and sipped his water, settling quickly. Irene moved before him. His gaze was narrowed over her shoulder, mostly in Kent’s direction, but she ignored that. “Clive, speak to me. What is going on?”

  More of his friends came over and surrounded him.

  Irene glanced over and saw that Kent was grinning and her distaste for him grew. How dare he smile while his friend suffered? She turned back to Clive and placed a hand on his head. “Are you ill?”

  He knocked her hand away. “I’m fine.” Then he looked at his friends and said, “I would like to formally introduce you to my friend, Lady Irene.”

  Lucy blinked and then she gasped and turned to her husband. “You lied to me.”

  Kent burst with laughter as did the other men, but Irene was lost as to what was going on.

  She looked at Clive. “You’re not sick?”

  “Far from it.” He gave his cup to a footman and then stood.

  She was angry. Something was clearly going on and no one was telling her. She hated such situations. She couldn’t help but think people were laughing at her. They’d once laughed and made comments about her looks, but then artists had started painting her and the laughter had died, and the looks had changed from pity to intrigue. Irene had transformed from an ugly lady to a work of art. Neither was appealing to her in the least.

  She stood still as the conversation around her went on. Families were introducing one another. Most everyone knew each other. Irene said nothing as she tried to get ahold of her emotions.

  Clive moved close and offered her his hand. His expression was still hard, but the hard look was not for her. It was for Kent, which made her smile. With a touch of greed, she gripped him possessively and allowed him to lead her into the drawing room.

  “You aren’t ill, are you?”

  He’d been staring out, but he looked at her before he spoke. “I’m at the height of health. I’m certain I have at least fifty more years before I die.”

  She hadn’t known how tight her chest had grown until the tension was gone. “Hopefully, longer than that still.”

  He watched her for another long moment and then said, “Show me your father’s art.”

  So for the next half hour, until the dinner bell rang, that was exactly what she did.

  * * *

  Clive wondered what he’d been thinking. As he stood gazing at Van Dero’s vases and sculptures, it occurred to him just how much of it had been purchased from the coin he’d stolen from the Lost Lords. He asked about their dates of purchase and while most of the art had been in Van Dero’s possession for years, a great deal of it had only been acquired in the last ten years. Clive had only been in captivity for one year. Garrick for four.

  Then they’d been interrupted. By men, or rather boys, and the boys did nothing to hide their desire for Irene’s hand. They flirted as though Clive were not standing there and engaged in a conversation with the lady. They acknowledged him, of course, but their focus was Irene.

  He wondered if any of them were interested in more than marriage. Maybe revenge. He added their names to a list in his head. He would look into them later.

  She smiled through one man’s comments after another, but her smile wasn’t real. He’d watched her enough to know she was growing uneasy. Her words became more clipped, her tone brisker.

  When they finally had a moment alone again, and only after he’d taken her to the far side of the room, she said, “
That is the last time I let Cecilia help me with the guest list.”

  “Let me guess. Surrounding you with many adoring suitors was her idea.”

  She cringed. “She means well. She wishes me to marry.”

  “It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  She looked at him and smiled, genuinely. “I’m glad you agree.”

  Before he could tell her that he hadn’t proposed they wed, their moment was once again intruded on.

  By the time the dinner bell rang, his mood had soured, but he tried to hide it as the dishes were served. He was not at all surprised to find the meal was set informally. He’d been seated by Irene. On her other side was Lady Cecilia, Viscountess Brooksett, who spoke endlessly of Irene’s kindness and unique beauty. It was as though she were trying to get Clive to buy a bonnet.

  He’d have thought Irene had put the woman up to it if he hadn’t heard Irene ask her friend to stop on more than one occasion, even to the point of pleading. He watched her genuinely grow upset over the praise, though he didn’t understand why. Cecilia claimed that Irene had helped her daughters prepare for the Season and already some young men from well-established homes had come to call.

  Irene was glad for the daughters but couldn’t take it when Cecilia began to speak of the years she’d dedicated to her father.

  “You’ll not find a more selfless woman in England,” Cecilia said. Her gaze said she was as determined to speak her mind as Irene was to quiet her. “She gave her father her best years.”

  Clive was not surprised that instead of dying and making life easy for everyone, Van Dero had taken his daughter’s marriageable years.

  Cecilia released a shriek and then winced while Irene ducked her head to feign interest in her meal. Clive bit his tongue to hold back his laughter. Cecilia’s husband, who’d been speaking to the man on his other side, turned to her.

  Having a moment to themselves, Clive leaned toward Irene and asked, “Did you just kick her?”

  Irene’s eyes widened. “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t know her as well as she knew him.

  “Well then, perhaps you should get to know me a little better,” she said, as if knowing his thoughts.

  “I believe that was what Lady Cecilia was trying to help me do before you quieted her.”

  Irene smiled.

  His eyes were drawn to her brows and the little shadow that all but made the two one. It was hard not to look at the features that set her apart from others. His eyes were often drawn to her brows, her nose, her mouth, her coloring.

  She stiffened.

  His eyes moved to hers. They were yet another part of her that fascinated him.

  Suddenly, she turned to her friend, but Lady Cecilia seemed more inclined to give her husband her attention. Apparently, the pain had traveled from her foot to her hand and Lord Brooksett was more than willing to attend her.

  It forced Irene to choose between speaking to him or eating from her plate.

  She chose him. “Are you enjoying the art?” Her eyes had turned hard.

  He thought about her question but found it too late to reply. She was called by a gentleman who sat close to Lord Brooksett, one of the younger lords who were trying to get Irene’s attention long enough to make her his wife.

  “You look t-troubled,” Garrick whispered from Clive’s other side.

  Clive turned to him. “Troubled?” he signed. “I’m annoyed.”

  Garrick had trouble speaking in front of crowds he didn’t know. Clive didn’t ever push him to do so. “Because the men here are trying to steal your fiancée away?” He grinned.

  He ignored the remark. “I told you about the Mr. Smith who asked for the hairpin.” He’d told all the men about it. “Also, she knows about my past. She knew about Lord Edmund leaving my mother.”

  Garrick straightened. The humor in his eyes winked away. “How? Lord Van Dero?”

  Clive nodded. “I need to know what she knows.”

  “Perhaps, you should have taken her offer to be alone this evening.” Garrick managed a smirk.

  Clive shook his head. “I didn’t want to give her false hope.” They would not marry. He looked over and found Irene was boldly staring at him. She was transfixed.

  She’d not been the first lady to look at him that way. Even with his soiled past, his looks and title still called to many a woman, especially now that he was wealthy. Wealthy men had no reason to steal was their philosophy, though such pretty words hadn’t rang true for Van Dero. He’d had everything and still he’d wanted more.

  Clive had quite a few women who adored him. And with any other woman, Irene’s unwavering gaze would have annoyed him. She did annoy him, but in a different way. Her bravery was puzzling. She risked humiliation every time she all but announced to the world that he owned her heart.

  He could end this infatuation. With a few words, she could break in unmendable ways.

  But he couldn’t. He didn’t wish to break her heart. He would simply have to steer her interest elsewhere, later, after he’d learned the truth from her.

  Garrick tapped his arm to get his attention. “Leave it to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll get you a moment alone with her.”

  Clive didn’t know how Garrick would pull that off, but he didn’t doubt his friend’s ability.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  1 0

  * * *

  It was extraordinary. Irene had played charades a hundred times but never had she seen anyone move the way Garrick did. They’d split the party into teams and while it was traditional for one side to go and then the other, once Garrick took to the middle of the room, the crowd would not let him sit down.

  The game had changed into a match of guessing what Garrick would come up with next. His wife, Nora, would write something on a small paper and then show it to her husband, who would then amaze the room with his smooth movements, making things appear that weren’t there.

  Irene was so wrapped up in the entertainment and in the shouting and laughter that she gasped when Clive took hold of her arm. He placed a finger over his lips and then began to lead her out of the room.

  Irene’s heart raced and did a dozen flips as she followed Clive through the servants’ entrance at the back of the room. He closed it soundly behind them and then they were alone in the red saloon.

  Finally.

  Irene wasted no time. It had been so long since they’d been completely alone. Six years. There were nights she’d wept with need for him. She would not weep tonight. She would have this to carry her into a pleasant dream.

  She placed her hands on his shoulder and lifted herself onto her toes.

  Clive frowned. “Irene, what are you—”

  “Shh, darling. I know why we’re here.”

  “What are you talking about?” He took a step back, and she tripped. His hands went to her waist. Her arms went around his neck, and she dragged him down.

  “This.” Her mouth pressed against his, and it was everything. His lips were just like she remembered, only his mouth wasn’t moving. She turned her head, trying for another angle. When she flicked her tongue over his sealed mouth, he gasped and set her away.

  “Irene!” His eyes were wide.

  Her hands slipped back to his shoulders. “What is it, darling? Have I don’t something wrong?”

  He looked enraged. “That was highly inappropriate.”

  “Was it?” She didn’t feel that way and even if it had been, she’d do it again. She couldn’t help the frustration that filled her. Nothing between them would be inappropriate if he’d simply propose. She wanted to do more than kiss him. She wanted to touch his skin and have him touch hers.

  Her hands trailed down his chest.

  He hadn’t moved since he’d broken their kiss. He remained still as he asked, “What are you doing?”

  Her fingers brushed over a lump in his breast pocket. It felt odd. “What is that?” She stared at th
e pocket and then looked up at him.

  His expression looked troubled. He said nothing.

  “Is it for me?” She laughed, teasing. She didn’t actually think it was for her, but when he continued to keep silent, her excitement bloomed. “Is it for me?”

  He took her hands in his. “I meant to leave it where you would easily find it. It’s not a gift.”

  “What is it?” What else could it be but a gift?

  “It’s your hairpin.” He let go of her hands and slowly reached into his jacket. Her eyes were stuck to his action. She worked to slow her breathing as Clive pulled his hand from his jacket and uncurled his fingers.

  Her bird.

  She swallowed. It was just as she remembered. “It was my mother’s. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “My father bought it for her. Her name had been Ava. It’s Latin for—”

  “Bird, I know.” Of course, he knew Latin. He was a gentleman.

  “Put it in my hair,” she whispered, her throat strained.

  “What?”

  She looked up at him. “Put it on me.”

  His gaze was wary and then he huffed and looked at her hair. “Where? You’ve a million blooms already up there. Do you have a servant clear your garden for every special occasion?”

  “No, I do it myself.” She laughed and touched his arm, excitement curled inside of her. “Just put it anywhere.”

  He was quick about it, but she felt the weight of the bird as he pulled his hand back. “I don’t know if that’s right. I’ve never done anything like this—”

  “Kiss me.”

  He inclined his head. “What?”

  She moved close. “Kiss me.”

  He barked a laugh. “Irene. No.”

  “Oh, please, Clive.” Her eyes burned. “Just kiss me.”

  * * *

  Clive told himself not to. It would only make her believe there was something special between them and something special about this moment. But she stared up at him, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. Her mouth… he’d never felt anything softer than that mouth.